Artificial Sweetener
by Bawgdan
Summary: Dream big, but not too big. You will eventually disappoint yourself. Motoko learns this the hard way. (AU)
1. Two Quarts of Water

_What's it like being that girl?_

_That girl he left behind in a burning house_?

No one ever warned Motoko that life wouldn't fall into place like a mosaic after graduation. She often found herself seesawing between extreme spells of wanderlust and misery. An artist lived inside of her. Eager and just as ripe as the banana she peeled. She found poems in the rickety fan that blew up her skirt and within the emptiness of her family shop. The cracks in the tile floors — inspired a metaphor about lost love. The bucket filled with mop water, in her mind, was a pond filled with the secrets of sad women.

But she leaned against the counter, counting her failed dreams along the cash register's buttons. Three rejection letters lingered in the back of her mind and the strife between her and her parents. Instead of studying, she was too busy drawing stars in her notebooks. Stars and a boy's name that hardly seemed worth the heartbreak.

'I wonder if Yuki is well?' she thought to herself.

It had only been a month or two, and she was already over the rubble and ash at her feet. It was strange how fast she came to a resolve; that **that **indeed was not love. Because when love is supposed to arrive, it wouldn't create a chaos inside of her. And when it would leave, she wouldn't be left with an aching sadness. Or maybe it was just one of her extremes. Motoko could never straddle a fence. She always had to choose a side. Either or. This or That. It helped her believe that she in control at all times.

_I wanted you to find a home inside of me._

_In my palms is where you'd sleep._

_My fingers would juggle the sun. The moon._

_My wrists will hold down the sky._

_And my blue veins will weave together the constellations._

When she did find her mind looping back to that brief moment; when Yuki beamed down at her as she sacrificed her sanity, Motoko would quickly wish something bad on him. Burying it for the hundredth time. Allowing herself to fill up with bitterness. Because it was easier that way. To be mad and spiteful.

'As if it really mattered,' she rolled her eyes.

The bell whistled as a customer dragged through the afternoon but she only stirred slightly. Motoko finished the banana, holding her eyes down at the cracks in the tile. The four o'clock glow poured into the windows and washed everything in a pale orange.

'I'm not a good person anyway.'

'I don't deserve love.'

_The rubble and ash was at her feet, the flames were gone, but her chest was still filled with smoke._

Bags filled with onions and leeks were plopped in front of her, breaking the overcast of her gloominess. She wrinkled her nose and snorted, her fingers viciously jabbing into the cash register. The total blinked in bright green, and she looked up at the customer. Her lips parting to speak but she instantly became lost in his light eyes. He dug in his pocket for his wallet, and his gestures reminded her of unfolding silk sheets. And his glare, beneath the fall of his bangs, reflected a deepness only older men could possess. But he didn't look all that old.

Or he could be pretending, just like she pretended to be disenchanted with him as she reached for his debit card.

"Dinner by yourself?" She was compelled to ask. The thought of him with a woman was interestingly masochistic.

"Am I that transparent?" he said dryly. Rather taciturn.

"You didn't buy a lot," she canted confidently.

He didn't respond as he collected his bags and his debit card.

"It's sad to eat alone, yea?" Motoko urged him once more.

"Sadder things have happened." That was the last thing he said. He made off with his bags.

She dreamily stared off at him as his shoes scuffed against the floor. The bell sang again and the door clapped shut.

"What a shame!" She breathed aloud, her eyes melting onto the counter, her fingers reaching for the banana peel. But as she shifted around the counter to mop the floors, she noticed what appeared to be a driver's license on the floor.

_Hatori Sohma_

_Birthday: July 10_

_Height: 6'0_

Expiration date: Next year.

And she daydreamed about what kind of person he might be well into the evening. His tiny facts became a mantra that lulled her into a dreamless sleep.


	2. Four Lemons

Shigure often confused his perversions with kind gestures, assuming that what he 'desired' is what everyone wanted. At least, what they should want. Hatori ran the tip of his beer bottle along his bottom lip, barely listening to Shigure ramble on about something far removed. Possibly an old memory that he had distorted to make himself feel better about the circumstance. That's another thing Shigure was good at. Bending the truth and remembering things no one else wanted to relive.

There was a light thump against the table and Hatori broke his watery stare from the evening news.

"Take a look!" Shigure knew Hatori hadn't been listening, but he didn't care. He liked hearing himself talk. Hatori hesitated. Taking one long sip of his beer, cautiously looking up at Shigure before reaching for the light pink envelope. He dragged it towards him with his index fingers, licking his lips and locking a groan in his throat.

"I have a feeling I'm not going to like this," Hatori coughed.

"Stop being a pessimist!" Shigure chewed away at a potato chip.

Hatori sat down his bottle and anxiously slid his fingers under the fold.

Inside were six photos of a disgustingly happy Kana. In Hawaii. On her honeymoon. Locking fingers and lips with a man that wasn't him. She smiled into the camera, into his soul, as if she'd only been in love with one person. And that person stood next to her, sharing a coconut and sipping from a bright green straw.

"I ran into her at the supermarket," Shigure beamed bright ignorance.

"Since when did you start going to the supermarket?" It was all Hatori could spit back, simply because he could never tell if Shigure acted on duplicity or if his intentions were always purely innocent. Hatori decided a long time ago that he wouldn't let anyone know that he was still upset about a lot of things.

Especially Kana, so perhaps Shigure's daftness was sincere. He acted fine, so he really couldn't expect for anyone to feel otherwise.

"It's about time you stopped letting Miss Honda clean up behind you. You're disgusting." Hatori dropped the pictures the way a child moved on after scraping their knee.

"You're so mean to me," Shigure sighed.

"Yet you go out of your way to visit me..."

"I'm spending the night too!"

Hatori stood up from the table, glaring at the TV for a long moment, then placed his eyes on Shigure.

"Don't forget to pay Akito a visit. You've been under me all evening...You know how Akito gets..."

An expression that wasn't quite sadness darkened Shigure's eyes. His lids lowered and his smile waned.

"I gotcha," Shigure mumbled, digging his hands deeper into the bag of potato chips. Hatori quirked a brow at the sudden dip in Shigure's mood, but when was he not in awe of him?

Hatori hooked the top of his bottle with two fingers, dragging off for the door, giving Shigure one last look for the night. "Don't stay up too late."

"I won't." Shigure turned his head to absently watch the news.

And Hatori escaped into the short hallway, making his way two doors down for his bedroom.

Time heals everything. He'd gotten to the point in his life where Kana had ceased to cross his mind. The luxury of going on for so long without having to think about her deluded him into thinking that he was over it. Jealousy. That's exactly what he was feeling. Coupled with resentment.

Time heals everything. Things happen for a reason.

Still fully dressed, he flung himself onto his bed, staring into the blaring red numbers of his clock.

**Denial**. What shit luck he had. Piss poor luck watered the Sohma garden...

Kana fluttered across his mind. The way she smiled. Her nervous habit of chewing on pencils. How warms her palms felt. The last time he held her hand. Pleasant things stacked against sweeter things. It lulled him to sleep and damn it felt amazing o allow himself to not find too much sadness in her happiness. It was for the better.

She wasn't the one.

And that was ok.

The further he dipped into his sleep, there was the looming thought that he was forgetting something rather important. But he closed his eyes and diagnosed it as anxiety. As severe melancholy.

x

x

**Sohma**. In her efforts to fix her broken heart, Motoko found herself standing under the mouth of her misery. She stood outside the Sohma Estate, cradling Hatori's license at her chest. She'd been standing there for five minutes. Screaming **Sohma Sohma Sohma**...in her head like a broken record. Her pretty eyes were wide like the ocean and the back of her throat was in pain.

He could always come get it himself...

She didn't have to be the bigger person...

She could just leave it in the mailbox...

But then she would** definitely** never see him again...

She wasn't mentally prepared to run into Yuki either.

**Sohma**. That last name wasn't reserved for him though. It's possible for it to exist in multiple households. Hatori Sohma could be a distant relative...or have no relations at all.

The gate opened and her legs were frozen. The script she had artfully constructed escaped through the open window of her subconscious. And there she was, staring blankly at a pretty girl with long hair, with dark eyes and undeservingly long lashes. Motoko's heart flat lined.

"Um...I have to return a thing." **A thing**. Her insides battled her spirit. "A thing that was lost..."

Motoko's pride boiled at the thought of her looks being inferior to the silent girl. Her black nails matched her hair.

"Hatori Sohma. He dropped his license at my store." She urged and the girl looked as though she somewhat acknowledged the gesture. But she stepped around Motoko, leaving the gate wide open. Without a simple 'go' or 'okay.'

Mouth opened, Motoko watched her strut down the street, her hair unraveling at her hips. Leaving her shrouded in a thick fog of mystery and strangeness and what the hell was her problem really...

Her second thoughts became bigger than the whims of her imagination, but curiosity clung to her like morning dew. Motoko shuffled on the other side of the gate before it closed, stepping onto a pathway with decorated stones. Trees twisting into more trees. Petals littered the walkway and koi ponds decorated each side. Curiosity sucker punched her in the chest...

She wandered deeper into the estate, feeling more and more out of place. There wasn't a single person in sight, and that struck eerie— all of this land and not even the faintest peep of a bird. She was sure the Sohma Estate occupied most of the neighborhood.

Three minutes of tarrying felt like an hour until she noticed wide open doors on the veranda. A figure slumped beneath spring leaves and pastel flowers, a naked pale arm burning in the sunlight. She scurried off the path, deathly gripping Hatori's license.

"Excuse me." She whispered loudly because she figured the estate's quietness was purposeful. She fancied ghosts buried beneath the flowerbeds and that rapacious spirits watched her from the dark windows.

Tiptoeing onto the veranda, she spilled herself next to who she assumed to be a Sohma resident as well. They wore an ill fitted kimono that slid from bony shoulders. Dark hair that shadowed their large eyes, and they looked at her dully. But something was off putting. She just couldn't place her finger on it. Their languor made her uneasy, and their eyes were more like empty holes.

Biting her lower lip, Motoko tucked a long strand behind her ear before gently bowing on her knees. The license wedged between her middle and index finger.

"Sohma. Hatori Sohma. I'm returning his driver's license. He accidentally left it..."

"So you're trespassing..."

Their lilt was laced with the sweetness of a concerned mother, but their directness cut into her like a thousand knives. The delivery was sweetly sardonic and she quickly lifted her head, her hair falling around her shoulders.

"I didn't mean to...No! I was let in! Someone let me in!" She herself wasn't sure if that was the truth, and they looked at her as if they knew her exact train of thought. Leaning in and reaching for her face, their fingers stopped at her chin, pressing a thumb into her skin. She shivered at the invasiveness, but nothing compelled her to withdraw. Her eyes fell onto a bird like chest, covered in tiny spots of red. Hickeys.

"I will let it slide today. I'm in a fairly good mood," a canted head, "You didn't steal anything did you? Did you steal his license?"

"No!" She choked on her gasp, but on top of her instant disdain, she couldn't help but blush at the softness of their skin. Before she could part her lips to interject a thought, they took their hands from her face and snatched away the license.

"I will see that he gets it. A regretful thief...The world must be ending. I forgive you on his behalf."

And her fingers curled into fists.

"Leave before I call the police."

"Say no more." She pulled away and they slouched back into the coolness, sliding the doors closed.

Sohma. They must all be rude. She deduced that these particular Sohma's were of no relation to Yuki. He was kind and mindful. And his beauty didn't rely on aloofness.

Motoko gathered herself. Packaging away the idea of seeing Hatori Sohma again. It just wasn't meant to be and perhaps it was for the better. She could now forever rid herself of the Sohma name.

To hell with anyone who carried that name.

x

x

Hatori picked the glass from Haru's arm. Dropping the shards in a plastic cup— tiny specks of blood stained his white coat. He cleared the back of his throat, wishing it were possible to insight some kind of wisdom in Haru, but that would be wasted effort. And if he had learned anything in all of his years, it was that people were incapable of change. During his early years as a doctor, he would see the same patients three times a week. With the same problem or lack thereof. Haru reminded him of the tired mothers and their colicky babies. The old man that was addicted to painkillers.

"You should try sweating some of that anger out." Hatori finally spoke, but Haru stared out the window as if he had no moral convictions. His face didn't resemble sadness, but he was thinking hard as hell about something he couldn't fix. Weren't they all though...So he couldn't necessarily blame him. They were all suffering and it was out of their hands.

"You ever sit and think to yourself..." Haru winced, but it wasn't because of the huge chunk Hatori plucked from his elbow. "Do you ever just think **damn **I've been through a lot of shit...cos I do. Every day."

Dabbing at the deep cuts, Hatori heaved a sigh that shook his bangs.

"God doesn't put us through anything we can't handle..." And the statement was morbid. Too morbid for Haru and he recoiled a bit, squinting at Hatori who remained steely.

"It builds character," Hatori smiled.

"Fuck that. I just want to be happy." Haru wanted Rin to be happy.

"You're going to need stitches."

There were three long knocks at the door. That lingered familiar, and they both gave a look that screamed knowing. The knob clicked and Akito slinked inside, wearing a coy smile that eroded Haru's calmness.

"I don't need stitches." Haru sat up, fiercely snatching his arm away, leaving Hatori with sticky gloves, swiftly stepping around Akito without a thank you.

But Akito acted as if Haru's existence was a passing shadow. Making her way to sit next to Hatori, she dangled his driver's license in his face.

"A bird dropped this off," She sang, smiling under the shadow of her bangs. Hatori's heart followed behind Haru, but he remained stoic, narrowing his eyes at his license

_So that's what he'd forgotten about_

"Huh." As Hatori reached for it, Akito pulled back, raising a pale leg and pressing her foot in his stomach. Her robes messily tossed around her, eyes large as she searched inside of him for something that wasn't there.

But he didn't resist her invasive stare. He glared backed with thinned lips.

"She wasn't all that pretty. Her legs looked like pencils. Chewed pencils..."

x

x

x


End file.
